


Loco Parentis

by Milieu



Series: A Game of Beautiful Madness [6]
Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Changelings, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Platonic Dads, Unconventional Families, reference to period-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milieu/pseuds/Milieu
Summary: Mars and Az adopt some kids, mostly by accident.





	Loco Parentis

"Mars." Az's face was inhumanly attractive even with the very unbecoming expression currently marring it, an interesting mixture of confusion, disbelief, and slowly dawning outrage. Mars would have liked to take a picture to annoy him with later, but he expected he might need both hands free very shortly.

"What," he said, though he knew exactly what.

"There's a bunch of fucking kids in the living room," Az said, tone as measured as he could possibly make it, which was not very. "And they're eating my fucking food."

"Well, thank goodness your normal food is untouched."

"Oh you fucking-" Az snorted and tried to cover it, trying to maintain his ire. "What in the-" He cut himself off with the struggle to not laugh.

Mars cut in before Az could resume being properly annoyed. "They didn't have anywhere to go, Az." He had expected resistance, but fortunately Az was more confused than angry so far; a bad joke with good timing was enough to catch him off-guard, and hopefully enough to defuse any building tension.

They were in the apartment's meager kitchen, where Mars hoped that the slight distance and the noise of the TV and cars going by outside would be enough to prevent them being overheard if they kept their voices low. The trick, of course, was keeping Az quiet. 

The trio of teenagers currently sitting in the living room stuffing their faces had been through more than enough already without a shouting match breaking out to let them know just how unwanted they were.

Az rubbed a hand over his face once he'd gotten hold of himself. "See, we've got this thing called a Court, yeah? You might remember them from that fact that we work for them? And they've got what I would scientifically call a whole assload of resources more than you and I do, so why are  _we_ playing babysitter?"

"Nobody else offered."

Az sighed in exasperation. "Nobody else offered, or you just spoke up before anybody else could?"

Mars didn't respond right away that time, and Az clicked his tongue. "Thought so."

"What does it matter if they stay for a few nights while better arrangements are made?" Mars asked quietly.

Az leaned one hand on the countertop and planted the other on his hip, studying Mars for a moment before answering. Mars returned the favor. It was just something they did from time to time, sizing each other up like two predators who had suddenly remembered that they were cohabitating with an equal threat. Mars could recall similar exchanges happening between the guys he'd been on active duty with; here with Az, there was no threat of disciplinary action to prevent a fight from breaking out, as it sometimes did.

Az's hair was out of its usual ponytail, spilling around his shoulders like flame, red silk, any other number of poetic visuals. His eyes, long-lashed and deeper blue than any human's, could pierce through you just like the tip of his blade. His eyelids, lips, and the talons that tipped his fingers were also blue -- not the dull blue of a dead thing, but vibrant, reminiscent of the makeup of some mythic courtesan in an old foreign drama. Peacock feathers trailed from his hair. When he moved, even to turn away in a huff, he seemed more like a dancer than a soldier.

Standing in their cramped kitchen in nothing but sweatpants and illuminated by fluorescent lights, his beauty was so out of place as to be absurd.

He wasn't alone in his absurdity, at least. Mars was a head taller and all inhumanly toned muscle. He had no lips to hide the fangs seemed to threaten to overflow his mouth, and his brow naturally sloped down into a glower, all framed by dark, shaggy hair. His monstrous appearance was something like elegant in its simplicity, in comparison to the extravagance of his erstwhile partner.

The kids had looked at him wide-eyed when he spoke up with his offer of shelter, but none had recoiled. They'd either seen enough of faerie horror to know better than to take it at face value, or they were simply numb. Neither option was pleasant to dwell on.

"How many days is 'a few'?" Az asked, tapping his talons against the linoleum counter.

"A week tops. I promise."

A bubble of laughter made both of them turn towards the living room. There was a snatch of conversation from within over the sound of the TV, followed by more laughter, hesitant but genuine.

There was a sharp and not entirely unexpected pull in Mars's chest, and for a moment he couldn't bring himself to turn back and look Az in the face.

Az sighed again, softer.

"What are their names?" He finally asked.

"Clair, Ophelia, and Marvel."

"'Kay, and who's who?"

Mars smiled, such as he could. "Marvel is the boy, Clair is the blonde girl, and Ophelia is the oldest."

"And do you know, I mean- what are they? Marvel looks like a snake, Ophelia looks-"  _Dead_ , was the next word on his lips, but Az thought better of it. Some distant memory of high school literature surfaced, and he grimaced. 

Fucking Fae and their irony.

Mars shrugged. "Someone who keeps track of these things will probably know. All three of them are due for a check-up -- physical and mental -- once they've had a day or two to settle. Someone will need to work out what they know about contracts and spells, all of that." He wasn't looking forward to it, having to unload all the complexities of changeling society onto a trio of lost, helpless kids.

But, a voice in his mind whispered, they weren't helpless. They'd found their way out and stuck together. They'd been smart, or brave, or lucky, and whatever it was, they'd saved themselves.

"Yeah, yeah." Az ran his hands through his hair distractedly. "One week max, yeah?"

"I said I promise, didn't I?"

\---

Az was awoken at the beginning of week six by a shriek from the kitchen and the sound of something breakable getting dropped on the floor, and for several moments he simply lay in bed and reflected on how lucky Mars was that they hadn't made a formal agreement of the time limit.

He'd never made it to the two-point-five kids and picket fence stage of things before his number came up in the nation's favorite lottery. No kids at all, not even a twinkle in his eye.

He'd had a girl. He was pretty sure it had been a girl. Had to have been, or he would have gotten out of the draft, and he wouldn't be laying here listening to the three hooligans in the kitchen arguing over who was going to sweep up a broken cereal bowl and mop up the mess before he or Mars came to investigate. He couldn't remember her name or even what she'd looked like, really. Just that she'd existed, and that he'd probably promised to come back and do the whole kids and a house and a yard and a dog thing once he was done with Vietnam.

In the end, she'd gotten nothing, not even a copy. Some dead man had raised his foot to take a step, and into the Hedge he went. Back in the jungle, the fake stepped down, right on top of a landmine. Born and dead in the span of a second, taking everything Az had with it.

Maybe it was better that it had been so long, that there was nothing waiting for him. Az hadn't made it to that point in life, but Mars had, and look where it led them.

"What do you mean, they don't own a mop?" A high, girlish voice from the kitchen demanded.

Getting judged for their lack of cleaning supplies because Mars couldn't keep his fatherly instincts in check. That was where it led them. (Ophelia sounded nothing like she looked, thank Christ.)

"Your kids are causing a ruckus and breaking our shit," he called over to Mars, who was still unmoving in his own bed.

Mars didn't budge. "You want it taken care of, you go take care of it."

Az rolled out of bed with a grumble and trudged to the kitchen. "What are you punks doing now?"

Every morning, no matter what awaited, the most astonishing thing was that they looked happy to see him.

**Author's Note:**

> Az can complain all he wants, but in three months he and the kids all have matching jackets.


End file.
